


In Opposition of Solitude

by MK_Morreaux



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Dark Will, Dark Will Graham, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Murder Husbands, Sassy Will Graham, Serial Killer Will Graham, Serial Killers, Vignette, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help, Will Loves Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MK_Morreaux/pseuds/MK_Morreaux
Summary: In 2006, a surgeon switched over to psychiatry and a police officer got a masters degree in criminal studies. They were just an orphan aristocrat from Europe and a lost boy from the heart of Dixie. They'd known each other for ten years, but that summer in the heart of Baltimore, Maryland, they began a new chapter in their story. Together.





	In Opposition of Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little writing exercise in an alternate reality I'm developing as a little vacation/break every few weeks or months as I work on my novel. There's no solid plot, and I simply allowed my fingers to go, letting the details fall where they wished, and allowing the constructs of Hannibal and Will in my mind to be my paddles.
> 
> Hannibal and Will are 35 and 27 respectively. You'll find better notes about why at the end of the story. It means Hannibal does not yet have an iPad, but because he is a working professional, he has a Blackberry (the version before the Pearl, for GOD's sake!). Will, though it was not mentioned, has a flip-phone.
> 
> Anything confusing you yet? Read, my darlings, and then ask. I promise to respond!

“How much longer until the workers finish with the, ah, visiting room?”

Will’s voice carried clearly over the crackle of the plastic sheets. The wooden floors would be treated and restained, but they needed protection until the wall painting was done. The whole process could go faster or slower, given the pickiness of his companion, and Will could only be grateful he didn’t have a headache that day or the continual hiss-crack-hiss of their footsteps on the plastic would have grated on his nerves.

“Drawing room,” Hannibal, his partner of five years, corrected, more teasing than chiding. “Originally derived from the English sixteenth-century term ‘withdrawing chamber’ or ‘withdrawing room’, where guests were traditionally entertained after dinner, or, in more formal home settings, where ladies might relax after the evening meal while the gentlemen entertain themselves in other parts of the house.”

“Or we could just call it the living room, like the rest of the twenty-first century does.”

“Shall I tell you the origin of that term as well? It is a rather delightful turnaround from the nineteenth century, brought about by a tasteful article in the Ladies Home Journal.”

“I’m not going to ask why or when you had time to read that.” Will cracked a smile as he paused in the main hallway. Fine, foyer—not that the correct term really mattered. He snorted at the sheer ridiculousness of it all and wandered on ahead into the drawing room—living room, parlor, receiving room, or whatever the space eventually ended up being called.

He didn’t know much about tasteful homes, but he found himself admiring the way that the summer sun brought out the shine of the deep purple walls. He had forgotten the color name on the swatch Hannibal had shown him, but he was certain that future guests would not be looking to him to discuss those trivialities anyway. Or if they did, he’d tell them it was eggplant or grape, whichever he felt like at the time. Besides, the room would have far more interesting things for visitors to distract themselves with once the house was completely furnished. Will had never thought himself the type to become excited by the prospect of furniture shopping, but in this case, he had a valid reason.

This house was theirs.

Pleasant warmth spread across his chest at the thought and he turned to find Hannibal watching him from the doorway. Will could not deny that he was staring back just as openly. His partner was tall and broad-shouldered, the play of shadows and sunlight in the hall behind him highlighting the gold and brown tones in his hair. He’d stopped sculpting it back so severely with pomade in the last year and decided on an artful side-sweep that Will enjoyed raking into disarray. Plaid and other odd patterns had been making their way into his wardrobe lately, as though the new-minted psychiatrist was crafting an image of himself different from the more somber one of his surgery days. He looked softer now, more open, if a little eccentric. Elegant still, but not outwardly threatening.

“Does the paint job pass inspection?” Will asked as a belated distraction. He knew where his imagination would go if he didn’t refocus on the moment.

“Marvelously,” Hannibal replied in good spirits. “I did not quite realize what a romantic cast Aegean blue would give the room. Perhaps we might consider upholstering a divan in that color for the widow area.”

Blue? Will looked around the room once before he blinked down at the wool pea coat he was wearing. It was one of the many ways that Hannibal had decided to congratulate him on the Master of Science degree in Crime Scene Investigation that he had just obtained. It was more for autumn than late spring, but had been the easiest coat to grab when Will rushed out of his apartment to make the drive from DC to Baltimore earlier that day. He deliberately didn’t think of how sinfully soft it was. Instead, he glanced back up at Hannibal, knowing that his partner was already mentally drafting a new portrait of him wearing it. He’d be a gruff sailor, likely. Or some modern-day sea god, knowing the mythological turn of Hannibal’s fancies.

“I’ll make sure not to wear this in here again, so I don’t blend in with the furniture,” Will said, trying to sound gruff.

“You could never.” Hannibal walked into the room and took his hand. “The design of the room would only serve to highlight and complement your natural beauty.”

Will snatched his hand back, torn between mirth and mortification. “Hannibal. No, just no. You are not allowed to decorate and furnish this house based on how well you think it will…complement me.”

“It cannot be helped, _mylimasis_ ,” his lover murmured, drawing him close by the waist. “I would fill each of these rooms with reminders of your presence, little odes to your excellence, if only you would allow it.”

“I’d rather be making memories with you in these rooms, darlin’,” Will drawled, playing up his boyhood Louisiana accent in retaliation. He knew how much Hannibal liked it. “Speaking of which, you never answered my question about the timetable.”

“Painting on both main levels of the house will be done by the end of the week,” Hannibal reported promptly this time, though he did nothing to hide the affectionate turn of his lips. “The kitchen cabinets and appliances will be installed next Wednesday, while the wood floors are all seen to. Then all that will be left for the workers to do are the carriage house and the landscaping. I expect we will have finished furnishing and be settled quite comfortably by the time you begin your first term of teaching at Quantico.”

“And then you can focus a bit more attention on your office,” Will reminded him.

They continued their inspection tour. Across the drawing room was what would be their music room. He knew Hannibal planned to convert him to the harpsichord at some point, though he would have been content with a sturdy upright piano. Just beyond the music room was their future study and library. While the other rooms would be accessible to guests, the closed-door library would be their private sanctuary. Two sets of mahogany double-doors, one from the music room and one from the hall, Will had chosen them personally from samples brought from Latin America. Hannibal had been so pleased with his choice that he requested the bookshelves be made exactly to match. The room had been sound-proofed, but they were going to schedule a separate time and day to thoroughly test it.

Continuing along past the drawing room, they peered into the bare bones of Hannibal’s true domain in the house. The turquoise-toned dining room was large enough to comfortably seat up to a dozen guests. In a few short weeks, a rare expandable oak table would arrive as its centerpiece, with matching chairs, of course. A chandelier or three would hang from the ceiling and reproductions of classical paintings would decorate the walls. Beyond the dining room, they’d fill the dark dome-roofed conservatory with herbs and soothing-scented plants. Will would be able to drift away there and rest his often-heavy mind. To the far right of the dining room, through a modest arched doorway, was the kitchen. It looked like a dark tomb now, with the windows covered to protect the paint and without the large appliances and marble-topped island counter. When finished, it would be a sharp mix of marble and steel and dark wood. Professional and clean, soft music from discreet speakers punctuated by the practiced tapping and tinkling of Hannibal at work on various cooking projects. A new coffee maker would require Will to spend a few days studying it—for when he was too impatient to use the more complicated manual coffee machines Hannibal had introduced him to over the years.

“I am keener to oversee the completion of our home,” Hannibal confessed as they wandered their way into the conservatory.

A whiff of new paint lingered in the air, along the dark metal frames for the glass panes, and Will searched his partner’s face for a reaction to it before replying. “You took longer choosing the building space than we took finding this house,” he said. “It’ll be your private playroom.”

“I do intend to take my patients seriously.”

“Only the ones you find interesting,” Will teased, watching the play of micro-expressions on Hannibal’s face.

“Nothing and no one could ever hold my interest as you do.” Hannibal’s hands came up to caress his cheeks.

The sensation of calloused thumbs on his stubbled cheekbones made him shiver and lean into the touch. Will tipped his head up to gaze through the domed roof to the second floor of the house. He knew that they would have two guestrooms and the balcony he could see out of the corner of his eye was attached to the master’s bedroom—their bedroom—but he stopped thinking beyond that tally. He favored Hannibal with a half-lidded gaze, looping his arms around his waist.

The orphan European aristocrat and the lost boy from heart of Dixie. Will allowed himself to feel a thread of smug pride for how far they had come. Together.

“ _Agápe_ , _éros_ , _philia_ , _ludus_ , and _pragma_ in one,” he murmured, leaning in closer to nuzzle against Hannibal’s cheek. “You said that’s what we had, the day you asked me out. I called you presumptuous.”

“I was proven right in the end,” Hannibal replied. “But you forgot the sixth type of love, as named by the ancient Greeks.”

“Oh? Do enlighten me, Doctor Lecter.”

“ _Philautia_ , Professor Graham, love of the self. It is seen to have two types: the negative version is a tendency to narcissism and self-obsession while the positive one grants a wider capacity to love those around us.”

“The duality doesn’t surprise me.”

It was reflex now, how Will leaned in to kiss him. He knew what image they presented—two grown men wrapped up in each other, eyes closed and expressions tender. Until Will cracked open an eye and noticed the figure watching from a shaded corner of the garden.

_Sickening. They’re disgusting, sucking face like that without shame. Pretty obvious who bends over and takes it up the ass. If the age gap were any bigger, I’d call it a sugar daddy thing. Bet they get off on the idea anyone can see what they’re doing in there, bet they even want to be seen. Won’t let them have the satisfaction, knowing I’m here, the filthy, cock-sucking faggots. I’d beat them up if I had the chance. I’d tie up the older one and fuck up his pretty boy-toy’s face before bashing both their heads in. Too damned bad the foreman and the rest of the guys can’t see past the money they’re throwing around. Too bad they won’t admit they’re just as disgusted as I am. And if they aren’t, they deserve to have their heads bashed in too!_

Will almost swore, the iron tang of blood bursting onto his tongue. Hannibal swiped his thumb over the bloody bite on his bottom lip without comment. They held each other’s gaze as Will struggled to regain himself. He found grounding in the deep redness, almost blackness, of Hannibal’s gaze, in the devilish quirk of his still-bleeding lips.

“I think we’ve seen enough for today,” Will said. His voice was frustratingly shaky as he stepped away from his partner. He licked a trace of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“We shall save the second floor for tomorrow.” Hannibal dabbed at his bottom lip with a handkerchief procured from one of his own pockets. “A turn around the back yard should be a pleasant end for our tour of the day.”

With a gallant twist of his wrist, he opened the side door of the conservatory and escorted Will onto the patio. Their would-be garden wasn’t much to look at right now. Like the rest of the house, the weedy ground and the tall grass would require some work. Hannibal had already broached the idea of a koi pond, something Will found himself interested in, and they’d more likely than not have a small vegetable garden to complement whatever they put in the conservatory. The stately red oak in the far east corner was apparently one of the neighborhood’s hundred-year-old heritage trees and they had signed papers promising to maintain it for as long as they owned the property.

“I have sent inquiries to certain nurseries for kazake and salavatski pomegranate trees,” Hannibal pulled him from his musings. “I should like to grow one or two, possibly a papaya or plum tree as well.”

“As if you need any more hobbies.” Will just snorted. He felt better now that they were outdoors, enough to turn his attention to the carriage house at the far west end of the property.

It was only a few yards away from the main house and would make an over-spacious garage for both of their cars. They could partition off the back half for storage or something and find some use for the second floor. He hadn’t even had a chance to look at it properly. With his thesis defense and final exam, then all the packing in his Foggy Bottom apartment before graduation day, he’d wound up leaving the details of their future home to his partner.

“The second story of the carriage house would make an excellent workshop for you, I think,” Hannibal said.

“I’d need a lift in there for some of the things I’d want to work on,” Will replied. “Unless you’re volunteering to help me haul boat motors and other engines up the stairs every few weeks.”

“I would be glad to help you with your projects, but a lift would make a charming and practical addition. We should mention it to Mr. Spinelli before we leave.”

“We’re going full-custom here, then, huh?” Will scratched the side of his stubbled cheek. “I guess that’s one way to fill the rest of the space on the garage floor.”

“I am certain there will still be ample room for other things there, even after installing a lift.”

They started walking along the side of the house, where a low wall and a wrought iron gate separated the side and back of the house from the front lawn.

“When you mentioned my office earlier, did you intend for us to visit the premises as well?” Hannibal asked. He squeezed one of Will’s hands gently in his own, taking out his Blackberry to glance down at the screen at the same time. “The agent will not be able to meet with us on such short notice, but I would very much like to take you to a lovely little cake shop nearby that makes doberge cake uncannily like the ones from that shop you introduced me to in New Orleans.”

“I’d rather go back to your apartment,” Will declined as they headed back to where Hannibal’s Mercedes was parked along the sidewalk. “Dinner, a quiet evening in—we can see if that cake shop is anything like the one in the Lower Garden District some other time.”

“I would be delighted if you would agree to sous chef for the evening. And perhaps put off your drive back to DC until tomorrow morning.”

“Just remember I’m still learning to julienne vegetables to your standards and we’ll see about tomorrow.” Will didn’t tell him that he already had an overnight bag ready in his truck.

As he slid into the passenger’s seat, he looked back at the two-story, cream-colored Victorian home right in the heart of Baltimore’s old-rich Roland Park. He was just in time to catch a single carpenter watching them from just beyond the wrought-iron gate.

 _I see you_ , Will thought. He always did.

* * *

A month and a half later, at half past midnight, he again stared up at the stately remodeled house. One thought rang in his mind: come nine o’clock in the morning, he would be an official resident of 928 Roland Avenue.

He had a duffle bag over his shoulder, half-blending into the shadows of a tree in the front yard of a neighbor’s home across the street as he took in the view. Their new address was imposing but charming, and fit perfectly in the neighborhood under the kind light of day. From the Italianate corniced eaves to the too-large bay windows on either side of the front porch, the Corinthian columns, and the newly-installed stained-glass front door, it was like something out of a storybook—a fairytale manor house waiting to be filled with laughter and elegant happily ever afters. Night transformed it, brought a creeping anticipation of the macabre from sunset to dawn. It became a looming, demonic thing, the pale face of death grinning knowingly at the unsuspecting streets. He imagined it lit up from within, all lamps turned on to their brightest setting. The house would laugh mockingly at the self-absorbed, frivolous residents of the suburb. The carriage house, with its long driveway and double car doors, lights turned on in the workshop, would resemble a starving hound coming to heel at its dread master’s side.

Will wondered idly when his own morbid imagination had blended so seamlessly with Hannibal’s dark fantasies.

Allowing the thoughts to drift away into a corner of his mind, he checked his watch and zipped his dark gray jacket all the way up. He loped across the street and went up along the driveway. The wrought-iron gate leading to the back yard had already been unlocked. Sidling along the glass walls of the conservatory, he made his way to the patio. Just before he got to the doors, he caught movement reflected in the windows of the conservatory, a familiar ghostly shadow approaching from the carriage house.

“I thought you were going to meet me inside,” Will said as soon as Hannibal reached him.

“I arrived earlier than expected and decided to test the mechanism on the lift for your workshop while waiting.” Few would ever call Hannibal Lecter boyish, but Will believed the description suited him quite well in that moment.

“Good to know you can admit that you like the thing too.”

“Shall we continue inside?” Ever gallant, Hannibal took the duffle bag from his partner and carried it the rest of the way for him.

The interior of the house smelled faintly of sandalwood oils the cleaners must have used that afternoon. The hall, devoid of plastic covering, echoed slightly as they stepped inside. It was surreal to think that in the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, the empty rooms would be filled with furniture. In three weeks, they would have a house-warming cocktail party.

“Shit.” Will exhaled quietly, anticipation quivering up and down his spine. Not for the party, never that, but for all the rest of the details compounding on details and the whole that they comprised.

He saw visions of Hannibal and himself everywhere he looked. Walking into the library with glasses of scotch and books. Sitting together at the glossy espresso-colored upright piano in the music room, or perhaps at any one of the three harpsichords Hannibal was still deciding between. Working side by side in the kitchen, Will scaling a large trout caught that very morning, Hannibal preheating the oven or chopping up the other ingredients that they’d need for their dinner. Sitting at the dining table across from each other for quiet midweek dinners, discussing clients and students and strangers they ran into on the streets. Facing each other in bed, fingers running along familiar lines of flesh, the realization that they’d be waking up next to each other every day for the rest of their lives. Crawling into that bed late at night after sojourns on lonely roads, fresh-showered, with only the faint hint of—

“Stay with me,” Hannibal murmured, pressing their foreheads together drawing him back into the moment. “Stay with me in this moment, Will.”

“Always hard to do, when we’re jumping off ledges with no coming back.”

Hannibal just smiled and swept an arm out in the direction of the kitchen. “Once more unto the breach.”

Will spared his partner a derisive snort and walked ahead of him. He rounded the kitchen island with its newly-installed countertop—“A good-sized slab of Statuario marble, _mylimasis_ , which I had repurposed from an older traditional countertop on display in Carrara,” Hannibal had said when it arrived—to the back wall where the door to a full-sized pantry stood.

“Everything’s ready, isn’t it?” he asked, looking back at his lover.

Hannibal slid through the shadows like he was made of them, inky blackness clinging to his dark coat as he stepped up to Will’s side and pushed open the pantry door. “I acquired the last few items from my supplier this afternoon.”

The wood-paneled room itself was empty, racks and shelves and chests waiting to be filled with spices and grains and bottles of cooking oils and other condiments and things Will didn’t care to classify. To the far right was a polished oak door with curling wrought iron hinges. He headed straight for it, pushing against the heavy wood and walking down the stone steps into their wine cellar. Here, a single bulb hung from the low ceiling, still to be replaced by a more permanent light fixture. Turned on, it illuminated another space ready and waiting to be filled, with empty wine racks along the stone block walls on either side of the door and room enough for a large portrait or some other decoration on the one directly across it.

Allowing Hannibal to precede him at that point, Will made a face when his partner pressed on a particular stone block a foot above the floor. A portion of the wall swung open, a very old-Europe sort of hidden doorway. “I still can’t decide if it’s tacky or overly dramatic or both,” he commented.

“And yet you still assisted me in installing it.” Hannibal shot him a fond smile as they carried on into a room that was marked as sealed off in the current rendition of the house blueprint.

After the hired teams had finished work on the cellar early into the renovation project, Will and Hannibal had begun their late-night trips to their future home for some improvements of their own. The image of his proper gentleman of a lover dressed in a Henley and builder’s cargo pants while they switched out the cellar wall occupied a prominent spot Will’s mind palace. He could feel the corners of his lips tipped up in a smile already as Hannibal flipped a switch and fluorescent white light flooded the room. Two industrial upright freezers, a large chest-type one in between, racks and shelves, sturdy meat hooks on the ceiling, carts for delicate surgical equipment and supply closets for sterilization and medical kits, pegboards with various hardware tools, and a table saw still half-wrapped in plastic in its own prominent space. Will felt a shiver go up his spine and down along his arms. So much equipment, and yet there was still room for more. Between the two of them, there would always be room for more.

A dull thud and a squeal-like sound from behind a section of plastic strip curtains drew his attention. Slipping through it, he stared down at the centermost of three large stainless-steel work tables. Down at the naked, gagged pig bound spread-eagle, balding, bug-eyed, and beer-bellied, with well-muscled, if hairy, arms and legs. Jacob Fordham, the carpenter that caused so many delays in the renovation with accidental slip-ups and shoddy work. Jacob Fordham, macho alpha male who took his frustrations out on his wife’s back and ribs and pushed his young son into the ER too often for the excuses of accidental falls to hold. Jacob Fordham, aggressive homophobe. Not a he, but an it. Its worst mistake was letting Will see him, that day he’d watched from the shadows during that renovation inspection.

“It seems our guest is awake,” Hannibal, who would have been ready to kill the swine several offenses ago, said from just behind Will. He had set down the duffle bag on one of the other tables and procured from inside it two folded suits of plastic.

“Safest bet’s the heart,” Will drawled, accepting one of the suits with a wrinkle of his nose. He understood the principle behind having them, but they crackled and crinkled too much. Besides, he liked a little mess now and then. “Saw him smoking the last time I drove by, and his gut tells you everything about his liver.”

“I was considering _Stinco di Maiale alla Birra_ for tonight’s dinner.”

Will watched the pig on the table wriggle around even more desperately as it realized they were talking about its future. “My Italian’s rusty, you know that. All I got out of that was a pork cut and—oh.” He snorted. _Birra_ was beer. Zipping the plastic suit halfway up his chest, he levelled a faintly put-upon look at is partner. “A little plebian tonight, darlin’?”

Hannibal tugged the zipper up all the way for him, smoothing down the plastic before cupping his face. He was himself already dressed. “The marinade was started for us, after all. And I thought you would appreciate something simple after all the excitement our day holds.”

“We’ll be fine. We hired movers, didn’t we?” Will leaned into the hands stroking along his cheeks. The pads of Hannibal’s fingers dragged along his sensitive, clean-shaven skin. For all that he said it wasn’t a big deal for them to be doing this, he felt a change reverberating deep in his bones. Why else would he have taken care with his appearance?

“Never did I think that night outside the Palazzo Vecchio would bring us to this moment.” Hannibal whispered the words roughly against Will’s hair, nuzzling into the thick curls. “This is all I ever wanted.”

“You’re too greedy to be satisfied so easily,” Will mouthed against his neck, just above the collar of the ridiculous plastic suit. “But this is the next step. For you. For both of us.”

In one decade, so much had changed for both of them. Two lonely souls wandering the streets of Florence, one on a break from medical fellowship, the other on a summer school-sponsored trip. One murder, one misstep, and their solitude was shattered. Tonight, they’d christen the very foundations of their new home with a new sacrifice of blood.

As one, they turned their attention back to the pig on the table. When Hannibal placed the scalpel in Will’s hand, he didn’t hesitate to make the first cut.

* * *

“The recruitment office asked me again why I didn’t want to go through training to become an agent. I told them I preferred teaching.”

Will leaned against Hannibal’s shoulder as they sat on the patio steps. They’d changed into their spare clothes, and the sun was just rising above the tree line. Jacob Fordham was in a field in Virginia, and would not be found for at least a full week. Choice cuts of meat were in a cooler in Hannibal’s car, right beside a large wicker basket Will suspected contained their breakfast and lunch for the day ahead. In less than four hours, the first delivery van would arrive, the movers pleasantly surprised to find both homeowners already present and ready to direct and assist with the furniture placement.

“Do you not?” Hannibal murmured against the top of his head, stroking at his knuckles.

“Teaching is more practical.”

“But it will not be as satisfying as solving cases yourself.”

At that, Will leaned away. “We’ve discussed this. You decided you’d switch over to psychiatry from surgery and I said I wouldn’t go back to police work after I finish my studies at George Washington.”

“The FBI Academy is not the same as the Maryland Police Department.”

“I already know I won’t pass the psych-eval.” Will laced their fingers together. _I won’t risk us_ , he didn’t have to say. No matter how many contingency plans they made, they still had to be careful. Still, he couldn’t keep the faint smirk off his lips when he added: “I did tell them that I wouldn’t be averse to consulting on cases on occasion.”

“Atta boy!” Hannibal chuckled, leaning in for another kiss. “I only worried how content you would be in a lecture hall.”

Will pressed in close, watching Hannibal’s bangs lighten to a blend of pale bronze and gold in the first rays of the sun. He ran his fingers slowly through the fine, straight strands as they kissed. Basking in the adoring gaze of well-loved brown eyes, he felt grounded.

“I’ll have enough to keep me busy for the next year, at least,” he sighed, settling back into their original position, using Hannibal’s shoulder as a headrest. His lover wasn’t the only greedy one here; Will would want more, too, but this, for now, was enough.

“I have selected an appropriate psychiatrist for myself, one who promises to be capable of assisting me in adjusting to clinical work.”

Will tipped his head up, wary. “Name?”

“Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier,” Hannibal replied gamely. “You might consider occasional sessions with her as well. From our initial phone interview, I gathered that you might find her amusing.”

“One psychiatrist in my life is enough, thanks.” Will snorted. He got to his feet, telegraphing each stretch of his limbs so his partner would know he wasn’t actually upset.

“But there is room for other company, is there not?”

Now Will was surprised. He knew Hannibal would never suggest inviting anyone else into their beds; they were both too possessive for that. Before he could formulate another explanation, his lover got up and headed into the carriage house. It seemed that their pre-moving activities were not over yet. He could have followed Hannibal, but he knew the other man would prefer the dramatic tension of leaving him outside.

It wasn’t hard to give in to these small whims, and the back yard bathed in the pinking light was peaceful for solitary thinking. Will wandered over to the little pond in a corner, trying to recall if the koi fish would arrive that day or the next. Sitting on the stone bench just beside it, he stared into the water. The closest fishing spot was Lake Roland, and he could just as easily charter a boat at the harbor. But if he only wanted a few moment’s peace, this spot would do nicely.

It wasn’t that he was feeling uneasy, not now, not after they’d christened the basement. But he had the distinct feeling the evening wasn’t yet complete. Or maybe it was just his anxiousness for the movers to arrive.

He noticed Hannibal walking toward him a few moments later, a good-sized woven box in his hands. It looked like something that could have come from a crafts bazaar, but seemed a little different from the picky decorator’s usual tastes. The mystery only grew when Hannibal laid the box at his feet and knelt down beside it.

“Is this…something you had your aunt send over?” Will guessed, trying to see how the box, with its plain, woven lid, could tie in to what his partner was leading up to.

“I waited until you completed your thesis to ask you to make a home with me,” Hannibal said instead. “We spent the weeks before your graduation securing this place and the months after working through the renovations. But it is nothing more than a house—four walls, a roof, humble additions here and there and in between.”

Will would have commented about how different their opinions of those humble additions—and the rest of the house, too—were, had Hannibal not pressed two fingers over his lips. He let the rude cut-off slide, pressing a kiss to the digits and nodding for his lover to continue.

“We are conjoined, just as you once told me,” Hannibal continued. “We pledged to each other that we would allow no man or woman or circumstances come between us.” He reached down to remove the box lid. “It is a pledge of death. But now I ask you, would you do me the great honor of pledging to bind yourself to me for the rest of our lives?”

In the box was a sleepy-eyed brown puppy. Her left forepaw was white, her right leg dipped half-way in that same color, and her features were thoroughly mixed. She would be a large dog when she was full-grown, but she was a sweet little thing for now, licking at Will’s face and fingers when he picked her up and cuddled her against his chest. Will hadn’t thought getting a dog was even on the table, and Hannibal had already guessed ahead. Still, the shock wasn’t enough to keep him from noticing what was tied to the puppy’s collar with a thin black silk ribbon.

The ring was of a balanced width, and Will knew enough about metals to tell it was platinum. Matte along the center, with high-polished, gently rounded edges. He could just make out a single word engraved along the inside of it, in Hannibal’s precise calligraphy. He didn’t have to squint or lean in to know exactly what the word was. The single narrow vertical strip of three square-cut diamonds paled in importance to it.

“You bastard,” Will choked out.

He had the puppy in his left arm and the ring in the palm of his right, barreling right off the bench and half into Hannibal’s lap. He almost sent all of them sprawling into the grass, but he didn’t care. He breathed in the warm musk of his lover’s cologne, and the earthy scent beneath that came from his own flesh. They were kissing, he didn’t know how it started or happened, but it was rough. Hard, teeth scraping, gripping each other too tight, with every ounce of feeling they could share between them. Will didn’t pull away until the puppy in his lap whined from being squished between them.

“Is that all the response you have for me?” Hannibal asked, content despite the awkward position they were in. Idly, he stroked the crown of the little dog’s head, not quite affectionate toward her, but that could come with time.

“You’re an absolute bastard,” Will reiterated. He cupped Hannibal’s cheek and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his swollen lips. “I was going to wait until you had your practice set up. I have a ring for you back in my DC apartment.”

“You have my apologies for preempting your plan, then.” There was nothing repentant about Hannibal’s smile. Exultation, awe, and joy radiated from his whole face.

Will ducked his head and fussed with the puppy in his lap to hide his own grin. “I can’t hate you. Even though you likely drugged this little one to keep her quiet.”

“I can regret nothing,” Hannibal replied, tipping Will’s face back up, “if this means I have your word.” He took the ring and held it, hovering, over his beloved’s right hand.

Will knew what it all meant, from the tidbit fact that Lithuanians wore both the engagement and wedding rings on their right hands, to the reality that this was a promise that he and Hannibal might not be able to make good on for years, maybe decades to come.

“You’ve always had it,” he said, spreading his fingers just a bit. He swallowed hard as Hannibal slid the ring into place—as expected, a perfect fit. “And we are driving down to get your ring as soon as the last delivery gets here this afternoon.” He already knew he had Hannibal’s devotion but he wanted the physical symbol all the same.

They got to their feet staring at each other and then down at the furry bundle between them. For a long while, there was no need for words between them, no need for anything at all to be said. Everything important already echoed in the hallways of the joint palace in their minds.

“She will require a name,” Hannibal whispered, reverence in his eyes as he looked up from the puppy and to his fiancé.

Will didn’t need time to think. He twined the fingers of their right hands, brushing the space on Hannibal’s ring finger where the antique gold band he’d picked out would soon be. “Harley.”

For the green meadows of spring, new hunts, and a joint life begun anew. It would all be by their design.

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have deduced, I've pulled together parts of the Harris versions of the characters' backgrounds and slotted them into place with the conveniently sparse TV backgrounds. Here's a bit of trivia for you!
> 
> \- On the Wikia page, it states that TV!Will is 34 at the start of the series in 2013. That would mean he was born in 1979. Book!Will was last heard of between 1978 and 1979, when he retired after the Red Dragon incident. My brain takes that to mean he reincarnated into cute TV!Will.  
> \- Hannibal's age, unless I terribly missed something, is only listed in the TV show as '40s', which gave me the leeway to play with the age gap a bit. I know Dancy and Mikkelsen, the actors, have a decade between them, but the book versions seem closer in age and that fit better with this plot.  
> \- Yes, that is puppy!Harley, as in, I imagine in this world, big, giant Harley was the first dog of Will's pack---and Hannibal found her for him.  
> \- Also, yes, I intentionally did not say what the engraved word was.
> 
> Sooooo... How's the direction of this sounding to you? I cannot promise this will happen VERY soon, but, despite the sea of other Hannigram fics out there, would you like to see the full version of my take on them? I actually do have the whole timeline of how they met and how they'd function within the 2013 TV show context.


End file.
